That man was not my father
by ChicGeek
Summary: Uncle Vernon has died from a stroke and Harry reflects on his burial. Rated PG for mild swearing.


Hey, everyone. You don't know who I am yet, because this is my first story. Reviews are always welcome, and CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM is allowed, but not ranting flames, like: "U STUPPID IDIOT, I HATE UR STORY!!!!!!!1111!!!" Please. No one takes that seriously.  
  
I don't own anything Harry Potter related, J.K Rowling does. If I did, I would'nt be writing fan fiction.  
  
NOTE-This story contains mild cursing. Harry (as is Dudley) is in his early twenties. He has finished his days at Hogwarts, and he is currently building his life in the magical world. he just recieved notice that his Uncle Vernon has died.  
  
  
Harry lugged his heavy trunk out of the rear of the taxi. As the cab sped off, Harry examined the neatly mowed lawn, the polished windows, and the quite ordinary landscape of Number 4, Privet Drive.  
  
"Looks just like the day I left..." He muttered.   
  
He dragged his heavy trunk up the driveway, and stood in front of the front door. Knocking, he studied the ultra-posh Ferrari F-50 in the driveway. Dudley's latest birthday gift.  
  
Suddenly, the door swung open. Startled, Harry looked into the face of Aunt Petunia. "She looks exactly the same!" Thought Harry. True, Aunt Petunia had remained little changed ever since Harry was eight. The only difference was the black dress she wore, and the black, broad brimmed hat that adorned her head. The little veil attached to it shook a little.  
  
"You...you....Go, just...go...." squealed Aunt Petunia, her face contorted with her struggle not to cry.  
  
  
Harry sillently pulled his trunk upstairs to his old room. As he stepped onto the landing, he caught glimpse of Dudley walking from the bathroom to his bedroom. He looked like a massive pudding with arms and legs. He was dressed in a black suit, and his face was blotchy.  
  
Harry collapsed on his bed. He lay there for a minute and, then sat up. "I never thought I'd come back here..." he said to himself.  
  
FLASHBACK TO TWO DAYS AGO:  
  
"Mr. Potter! You are needed at the front desk, at once!"  
  
Harry and Hermione were celebrating their engagement (A/N I'm a H/Hr sucker!) at the Three Broomsticks. Harry looked up from his hot chocolate. "All right...Be back in a flash..." he said as he rised from his chair.  
  
He followed the short witch back to the front desk, where the bartender held out a phone. Harry took it gently and held it up to his ear. "Hello?" he asked.  
  
"Harry..." came the voice of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Harry "What is it?"   
  
"It's your Uncle Vernon Harry...he's dead."  
  
Harry froze as Dumbledore gave him the details.  
  
"He had a stroke at his office..your aunt needs you for the funeral."  
  
END FLASHBACK  
  
Harry flopped back on his bed. "Why the hell did I freeze at the comment?" thought Harry aloud.  
"It's not like I was close to him..."  
  
Harry was interrupted by dry, racking sobs, coming from his Aunt Petunia downstairs. "Damn..." thought Harry.  
  
"Duddykins...Harry...The limo's heeereeeEE..." Here voice rose on the last syllable because of her sobbing.  
  
Harry, already in his suit, padded downstairs. He silently regarded dudley with a nod. Aunt Petunia stood outside, arranging herself into the limo. Dudley and Harry shuffled to the car, slowly, neither one wanting to face the sobby mess that was now Petunia Dursley.  
  
ONE HOUR LATER  
  
Clink...clink...clink. "Could I PLEASE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!" shouted Dudley, who was banging his fork against his glass over the noise of the funeral guests. "Thank you. I would like to make my speech now, entitled, Vernon Dursley:My father, the success. It all started..."  
  
Harry tuned out and turned to Hermione, who sat next to him "Thanks for coming sweet..." he whispered to her.  
  
She smiled gently. "No problem."  
  
A half hour passed before Dudley finished his very long (and boring) speech. Aunt Petunia was now speaking. "Everyone, thank you for coming. You are free to leave when you wish." She waded through the sea of people and grabbed harry's arm. "Time to go..." she hissed.  
  
Hermione, Harry, Petunia, and Dudley all stood around The minister, who was reciting the funeral rites. Uncle Vernon's coffin slowly lowered into the grave.  
  
As the minister finished, Aunt Petuina wiped her streaming eyes and nose, and started walking toward the limo. "Did you have to bring that little witch with you?" she hissed at Harry. Harry glared at her, and started walking towards a weeping willow tree. Herminone followed him. He slowly sank to the bottom of the trunk and glanced up at Hermione. She smiled weakly, and hugged him around his shoulders. Harry pecked her on the cheek. Getting up, she looked down at Harry. "Hurry back...after the funeral Harry. I love you..." Harry lifted his head to stare at Hermione's retreating back. He watched her speed away in her her Camry. He fell asleep.  
  
ONE HALF HOUR LATER  
  
Harry woke with a start. Sunset had almost come, and A few guests were straggling around. Harry pushed himself up, and strolled over to Vernon's gravestone. he read:  
  
VERNON DURSLEY  
1943-2002  
Beloved Father, Uncle, and Husband.  
  
Anger boiled up in Harry. "Beloved Uncle?!" Harry bellowed. He shuddered. "Yeah, right." That man was the farthest thing from beloved Harry could think of.  
  
Suddenly, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
A remaining guest smiled sadly at him. "He must have been like a father to you." She said.  
  
Harry froze and mumbled out some sort of reply. The guest hurried away.  
  
"Father! Dammit, that man...To think of him as my father...." Harry thought. He thought of his lost childhood in that house.  
  
The time the glass dissapeared at the zoo.  
Th unsigned permission slip to Hogsmeade.  
The cupboard under the stairs.  
The letter Vernon wouldn't let him have.  
The countless "abnormality" insults.  
  
And so much more...  
  
Harry ground his foot into the dirt, thinking of all the neglect he had suffered. Days without meals, forbidden to see his friends, the bitterness that he had at the children of his school, the ones with fathers that came in for career day. Or the first day of Kindergarten, when the teacher asked him to draw his parents, and Harry had sat looking at his blank paper, his scrawny hands, and the enormous hand me down pants he was wearing, Thinking of the car crash his aunt and uncle had told him about, and eventually tugging on the teacher's skirt and saying "my parents are dead..."  
  
Harry was filled with rage. "WHY THE HELL DID I COME HERE, DAMMIT!" He shouted to the iron-gray sky. He flopped down to the dirt and stared at the gravestone. He didn't want to come. And yet he did...  
  
As rain started to slowly drizzle down, Harry started sobbing into his hands.  
  
He cried for the wife of Petunia Dursley.  
He cried for the father of Dudley Dursley.  
He cried for the man who was not his father.  
  
  
END  
  
Whaddya think? I thought this was kinda sad....I did make up the kindergarten story, because I can so claearly imagine harry being like that.....Read and review, Please! Thanks for reading my story. I think it was a lttle OOC, but that's waht first tries are for! 


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